


Hellbent

by Roaoai



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Child Abuse, Damn this thing's dark, F/M, Implied pedophile, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's also rated conservatively, It's everyone really, Kinda, Setting a good precedent, Swearing, Torture, but he deserved it, first upload?, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roaoai/pseuds/Roaoai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Kelly has love, has family, has friends, and has her. And, sometimes, she wonders if his life wouldn't be better off without her in it.</p>
<p>-Or-</p>
<p>Jack has a friend whose more like a sister, and it would all be easier if Mags was spending her life doing something legal, but when you're already hellbent for leather, there's no turning back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August, 1899. Tellin' Stories

Katherine stared at the girl across from her, mouth dry. They had met before, albeit briefly, an odd, stilted, vaguely threatening conversation about Jack that had only taken a few seconds before the ragged woman had vanished again into the swirling crowds. How she’d found out about Katherine and Jack Katherine had never been able to discover, but it had stuck in her memory. Now, she sat across the table in the empty deli, eyes hooded and expression closed as she watched the reporter and the newsie beside her.

“I'm Katherine Plumber.” But you already knew that, she thought.  
“Margaret.” She almost jumped at the girls voice. It was clipped and tense, and Katherine could see Jack frown at her. “Though the papers usually call me Hellcat Maggie.”  
There it was. The admission of it almost took Katherine's breath away.  
“Are you really the one who beat, nearly killed, Clifton Hargrave last week?” She asked, even though he'd been pointing the finger at Hellcat since he woke up enough to speak.  
“Guess so.” She was refusing to meet Jacks eyes, though Katherine could almost feel him trying. She willed him to stay silent, this was her interview.  
“Why?”  
A long second of silence.  
“D’you want the easy story?”  
“Depends what it is.” Margaret turned, her eyes widening until she had a stupid, pitiful look on her face, simple and innocent.  
“I was real scared, miss. I didn't mean to hurt him, I just… I just wanted him to let me go.” Her lower lip wobbled convincingly and fake tears formed at the corners of her eyes.  
“You're very good at that. But it's not the truth is it?” The innocent look held for a second, before vanishing into a twisted, cold smirk.  
“Naw. But if you want the truth it ain't gonna be a fast story. That ones easy. Easy to buy, easy to sell. Ain't personal, y’know?”  
“I'd rather report the truth, if you're willing.”  
Another long break of silence.  
“You have made your name telling unfortunate stories, Miss Plumber. I'll warn you right now, though, this ain't no David and Goliath. There ain't a pretty ending here.”  
Katherine nodded and waited as the other girl turned to face them fully, staring hard at the table.  
“The law don't work for girls the way it does for boys in Illinois. F’them, you get caught you go to the refuge, it's hell on earth till you get out. Keep getting in trouble, the cycle continues. For us? First offence, you go to a refuge. The moment you're stubborn? Or angry? Or ‘impure’, even if you didn't want his hands to be on you any more than they did? You get shipped off, out of the refuge and into somewhere worse. You can train a boy out of it, but if a girl is ‘spiritually’ damaged they don't try to do shit.”  
“I only ever spent one night in the refuge. Next morning, I was bundled off to the Sanitorium. Sure, they only got one girl per bed, but that's because you're chained to it through the night. And if a guard decides to visit? Pay a little social call? Well, the girls are crazy, who'd ever believe them? Who'd care, so long as the screamin’ don't wake the head nurse up. I was twelve, made no difference to ‘em.” She curled in on herself as she spoke, venom in every word, wrapping her arms around herself.  
“I wasn't mad, just angry. It took me a year and a half to get myself the hell out of there. Changed my name, cut my hair, moved as far as I could out of the area, wound up here. Nothin to do, no money to run further. Fell in with some people, till they crossed a line, them I fell out of them again.”  
“The Bowery Boys.” Jack said quietly, a look of understanding dawning on his face.  
“You don't kill kids for bein’ in your way. Not ever.” She shook her head. “Met some new people, been sticking with them since.”  
“What about Clifton Hargrave?”Katherine asked carefully, and Margaret spat onto the ground.  
“He worked night shift at the Sanitorium. I knew him real well back then, and when I saw him I tried to rabbit. Pigfucker caught me, recognized me. Wanted a play.” Katherine heard Jack suck in air, quickly, and had to remind herself not to grab hold of him to keep him from going off the rails. “Said I'd grown up good and pretty.” She fell silent, and Katherine held her breath.  
“The first story wasn't all lie, I guess. I was real scared. Scared of him, of the law, of all that shit I buried coming back out of its grave again. I was real scared, but when I turned on him? I wanted to hurt him. I meant to hurt him, to tear him apart, hear him screamin’ and beggin’ just like he did me. Hell, in that moment I wanted to kill him. Only that little badge on his chest kept him alive, since you don't kill kids ‘less you're evil, and you don't kill cops ‘less you're stupid.”  
“It ain't as good a story, I guess, but it's the truth. Up to you if you write it, Miss Plumber.”  
Silence fell after that, stretching out as Katherine wrote desperately in her little notebook, though it felt as though the words she had just heard would be inscribed in her skull forever.  
“Mags…” Jack sounded like his heart was breaking, and it might have been. From what Katherine could gather, she had been looking out for him and the others since she hit New York, doing what she could to keep them safer.  
“Don't get weepy on me, Kelly.” She had a sardonic smile on her face. “If anything, I feel better than I have in years.”


	2. January, 1894. Meetin' People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she first hit New York, Mags didn't have anyone. She didn't want anyone, either.

“Careful, Michaelson. She’s a feral little beast.” Gerald Michaelson gave the other detective a quelling look, before picking up his mug and heading into the interview room.   
Inside, she sat. She looked to be about fourteen, with long dirty hair and the hollowed cheeks of a starved child. She had come to the New York Police’s attention when she quite literally dragged a constable off his usual route, so he could help save a lady from her attacker in a nearby alleyway. She’d been about to flee in the commotion when he caught hold of her. The little wildling had a badly broken wrist and a black eye.  
She’d wound up here since she’d fought tooth and nail to get away from the hospital, and the constable refused to just release her onto the street again.  
She sat in the interrogation room now, wrapped in a heavy blanket, her wrist bandaged, expression closed. She refused to look at him when he entered.  
“Hello. My name is Gerald.” She glanced over, then resumed studying the table. Michaelson resisted the urge to sigh. “I’ve brought you a sandwich and some water.” That got her interest, and she licked her lips but did not speak.He set them on the table in front of her, and waited until she took half the food and began eating.  
“You know, they really want me to find out your name. It would help us find your family. Find people who care about you.” She’d finished the first half and was reaching for the second, and he saw the look on her face.  
“You don't think anyone cares about you?” Her lips twitched into something that was very much not a smile. “Someone must be looking for you.” That got a reaction, but not the one he’d wanted. Her eyes widened and she glared at the table again as she ate. He waited until she’d finished everything he brought, then picked up the mug.  
“I’ll go get you some more.” He got to the door, and a thought stopped him.  
“She’ll be okay.” Those dark eyes latched on again. “The girl you got help for. Doctors say she’ll make a full recovery. Her family was overjoyed to hear she’d been found.” He got a small, very small, real smile for that.

“How’d you manage that?” He grinned a little at his coworker.   
“She’s feral, sure, but she’s smart, and she’s been through hell. I just treated her like an adult, instead of a baby or a criminal.” The other man shook his head woefully.

Gerald returned to the room quickly, setting the water on the table where she could reach it. Before he could even ask a question, she took a sip and spoke.  
“Margaret.” He gave her a startled look. “M’name is Margaret.” He nodded, noticing the way she avoided his eyes. He would bet good money her name had not always been Margaret.  
“May I call you Maggie?” Her mouth twisted a little.  
“I’druther you didn't.” He smiled, amused by the tone of voice.  
“Alright Margaret. Can I get your last name?”   
“Ain't got one.” He wanted to push further, but the mulish look on her face was enough to tell him he wouldn't get anywhere. Instead, he turned the conversation, talking about the assault she’d interrupted, even something about his own family and life to get her to open up further.  
Later, in his report, he would note a Chicago accent and a distinct refusal to talk about her own past.  
In the end, they had released her to an orphanage that, according to their report, she only spent one night in. 

In later years, Gerald Michaelson would wonder if there was anything he could have done for that small, dark eyed child that would have changed the woman Hellcat Maggie became.


	3. May, 1894. Fallin' Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mags may not have wanted people, but Jack clearly needed someone.

Jack met her when he was twelve. She saved his life, in fact, from the Bowery Boys, her gang at the time. They'd let her hang around them, and she'd been happy enough to, until they were breaking into a closed shop and Jack caught them. He'd been on his way home, he had one then, from selling his last few papes and begging for a couple extra pennies to help with supper. He'd been on his way home, and rounded a corner, seen them by the door, and stupidly, stupidly, asked what they were doing there.

One, a boy around sixteen, blacked his eye. Another broke his arm. He saw the third heft a brick, and look at him measuringly. Through ears that were ringing he heard the oldest tell the others to dump him in the river once he was out, let the little rat drown. 

Then, there had been a cracking sound, and the tallest one collapsed. Behind him was the girl who'd been with them, tall and wiry with muscle, a dark look of rage on her face. She thwacked the one who broke his arm across the head with the board she was holding, and landed a hit on the others gut, before scooping Jack up and breaking into a run. They ran a long time, into more and more public, open streets. At last, they were far enough she slowed to a stop and, just then, it occurred to Jack how much his arm hurt, and he started to cry. The eye wasn't too bad, his Pa’d given him worse, but the arm was new and awful. She didn't leave like he expected her to, though.

She slipped away and came back with a pickle from the stall on the corner. Her jacket had become his sling, and he learned how to set a bone for the first time from her. She walked him home after that, and slipped an extra dime into his pocket so his Pa wouldn't be mad. His Ma made her stay the night, eat some soup, wash as best she could, and from then on she was something of a fixture in his life.  
She wasn't always there, but she'd show up every so often, check in on him. Once, after a particularly rough day where he'd had to eat the cost of more than half the day's papes, she'd been the one to convince him to stay a Newsie. She'd talked about what it was like out west, though not as west as he wanted to go. Come to think of it, most of his dreams around Santa Fe had probably started with her tales of home. She'd convinced him to stay, as she put it, “Employed doin’ something legal that ain't hurtin’ anyone.”  
There was always a bit of a haunted look to her when she said that, like she was seeing other boys in him, ones who'd strayed to her side and gotten dead for it. He'd stayed a newsie. Didn't mean he stayed out of trouble.


	4. October, 1897. Talkin' Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the Newsies aren't that bright, and someone has to get them out of scrapes they don't fully understand.

“They said a lot of things about you on the street, Downey. They never said you was stupid.” She was seventeen, standing up at the front of the derelict elevator they'd been locked in. Jack, fifteen, cowered in the back corner with the four other boys who'd gotten caught. She shouldn't have been there, none of them should have been there, but she'd followed them, trying to stop them. They had been trying to steal food from the hotel kitchen when they got caught by a porter. The manager’d had them all dragged down here, to the basement of the whole place, stripped to their smallclothes to be sure they had nothing on them, and chucked them into the makeshift cell.  
“What are you on about, bitch?” He snarled, and Jack saw her shiver a little, through the thin cotton of her shift.  
“Well, just think if word of this got out. These ain't the actions of a decent, law abidin’ man. A decent, law abidin’ man would have called the police an’ all, not dragged us all down here. Think of how it looks… Or would you rather I show you?” A vein in his forehead pulsed, and he raised an eyebrow to her. In answer, she clasped her hands in front of her, and pitched her voice up a bit, out of its usual rasp into something sweeter.  
“He took up down into the basement, full of machinery if was, had us stripped near to naked and locked us up in a cage. We were children, all of us, me and four little boys. We were so scared, and he just hovered outside, leering at us, saying the most awful things, sir, I promise you. It were terrible.” He lunged through the gate, wrapping one hand around her throat, stopping her from speaking. They held like that a moment, then two, no sound but his rough breathing, before he released her.  
“Damn bitch.” He whirled and stalked away, yelling something to the porter about keeping an eye on them all while he phoned the authorities.  
The porter he sent, as it turned out, was one of Crutchie’s cousins. He recognized Jack in an instant and had them all out and dressed in two.  
“Downey’ll have your head for this.” One of the boys protested, even as he sped into his clothes.  
“Naw, your girl there get him good and riled. He knows if he tells anyone about it without you lot actually in there, it'll look just as bad as she said. And he can't fire me without permission from Head Office, what hired me in the first place. Just scram, before he gets back down here.”

Once they were outside and a decent distance from the hotel, they had all slowed down and Romeo sidled up beside her.  
“Never seen that much of a girl with scars before.” He said, casually, as though the scars in question weren't splayed along her lower back, just above her ass.  
She gave him an arch look, before responding.  
“My bet is you never seen that much of any girl before, scars or no.” Blushing furiously, he sped up, to walk at the front of their little pack.  
“How'd you get them?” Jack asked quietly, from her other side, trying to banish the look of the scars, the hips, the curve of breasts under he shift from his minds eye. Difficult for an artist.  
“It's rough out here. Stay employed doin’ somethin’ legal that ain't hurtin’ no one.” Jack nodded, knowing that as all she would say on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal Headcannon:  
> Crutchie has a huge, very odd family. No direct siblings, and his parents are dead, but lots of Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins. He always felt like a burden on them, though, which is why he lives in the lodging house.


	5. October, 1897. Talkin' Faster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mags has got more people, now, than she'd ever expected.
> 
> *Now* it begins to earn the rating. Kinda.

She dropped them off at the lodging house and turned, making a bee line out into New York, and something in the way she moved piqued Jacks curiosity. He followed, after making damn sure the others wouldn't be inclined to wander.  
She headed straight for the lodging room she shared with her section of her gang, boys and girls, throwing the door open when she arrived. He watched from the fire escape as she searched through the place, a fierce look on her face.  
Finally, in one of the upper bedrooms, she found what she was looking for. Or rather, who. He was sitting, reading on one of the beds when she stormed in and slammed the door.

“You're damn lucky I talk fast.” Jack was surprised to be close enough to hear clearly what she was saying.  
“Maggie?” She was pacing, the agitation she'd been containing finally set loose.  
“Downey. That creep with the moustache we caught looking too interested at some of the lightfinger boys a month ago.” She was almost gasping for air, and the man stood slowly. “Some of the stupider newsies and I got caught by him today. Took us down to the basement of the hotel, stripped us damned well naked, and locked us the fuck up!” Her voice was rising with hysteria, and she showed no signs of slowing down. “The damned Nonce had us, and I hadn't called him on it he really woulda had us, soon as he could get us away from seein’ eyes. So you're damn lucky I talk fast, and that Crutchie's got cousins.” He grabbed hold of her shoulders, stilling her so she faced him.

“Kelly got caught too, didn't he.” It wasn't a question. She nodded anyway. “That's what got you so scared.” She stilled a little, still glaring holes through his skull.  
“Ain't none of ‘em deserved what Downey’da served out.”   
“But it was Jack. And it was you.” Finally, slowly, she nodded. “And you're out now. You're free. And tomorrow, I'll send a few of the boys around to have a private word with the bastard.” She nodded again, softening slightly. “Good?” He asked, and she thought about it.   
“You got anythin’ real busy to do tonight?” He shook his head. “M’hearts still racin’, and my thoughts are right there behind it.” She paused again, then hooked her hands in the waistband of his trousers and pulled him close to her as she backed up to the bed.  
“Maggie…” It was almost a warning growl.  
“C’mon Thomas, fuck me till I can't think ‘bout anythin’ but you.” Her breath sped, even as she spoke the words, and Jack felt an odd thrill run down his spine. He wasn't innocent, not by any means, but it had never occurred to him that Mags had had sex, same way it had never occurred to look at her as sexual before today. The man, Thomas, let out a growl and pushed her back, onto the bed, and. Well. It wasn't gentle, but from the sounds Mags was making she did not mind at all. Carefully, mind spinning and mouth dry, Jack started to make his way down the fire escape. A wisp of a conversation made it through his fogged brain. On a lower floor, one of the gang had started to climb the stairs only to be halted with an “I wouldn't go up. Hellcat had something on the boil, and Tommy’s likely helpin’ her stir it.”

 

When he woke in the morning, Tommy found the bed empty. Barely half-awake, he rolled over to see Maggie naked, examining herself in the shiny tin mirror on the wall. She was covered in small, speckled bruises, and when she turned her back to him, he saw a dark palm print on her ass. It matched the curving ones over her hips, and he felt himself go cold.  
“Wazzat Downey?” She jumped a little, and smiled at him in the mirror.  
“Nah, he didn't barely touch me.” She tapped a slight bruise above one collar bone.  
“You didn’ tell me you got soaked.” She tilted her head to him, hair shifting off some very distinct bite marks on her shoulder.  
“You really ain't awake yet. I didn’ get these from gettin’ soaked, Tommy.” He frowned at her as slowly, slowly he started to wake up.  
“Did… Did I do all that?” He felt a little sick at the thought, and apparently it showed on his face.  
“Hey,” she came back to the bed, sitting down beside him. “You didn't do anything I didn't ask you to.” He shook his head, memories coming back as he woke up.

“Mags… I…” He shuddered a little as they cleared steadily, showing him in gruesome detail exactly what they'd done. “It ain't right.” She frowned, head still tilted.  
“What ain't?” He worked to find words.  
“You been through so much… You been treated so rough before. I never wanted to hurt you, only… Only treat you like gold. Like you should be. Ain't no one shoulda hurt you.” She curled up beside him, an odd little smile on her face.  
“If you don't remember, I bit myself first. You just played along. Real good, might I add.”   
“Why?” She swallowed and avoided his eyes, studying one bruised up arm as she spoke.  
“You already know I'm a head case. It's just another part of all that mess.” He didn't move, so she sighed and explained further. “When I'm with you, or the other boys I like and want in my bed, and it's so good and sweet, I start drifting. It's still good, but it's like it's not really me feeling it no more. I'm not in my head, I'm just out of it. And as soon as it's over? It's dark and you're asleep? It don't feel real any more. It feels like something I dreamed up. After all, why would someone as sweet as you ever want something as broken as me? Especially for something so, so good.” He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her stomach, hating the calm, casual tone of voice she spoke with.

“Why the bruises?” He said into her shoulder.  
“They keep me grounded. The pleasure keeps me from… From feelin’ like I'm back there again, and the pain reminds me that the pleasure is real. Both during, and after, once you're asleep. “ he shook his head a little, understanding but not sure if he liked it.  
“I can find someone else, if you'd like.” Her voice was real small, and he tightened his arm.  
“Nah. If you're gonna look to get bruised up in bed, I'd rather know the asshole who's doin’ it really cares about you.” She giggled a little, relieved.  
“Hey, you didn't seem to mind not havin’ to treat me like glass last night.” He tugged on her until she rolled to face him. Then, he kissed the tip of her nose.  
“I guess not. Just don't let Mickie kill me before you explain to him, huh? He's just as protective of you as I am.”


	6. November, 1897. Goin' Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When something happens to Mags, there's a lot of eyes out for her.

Jack felt a little prickle on the back of his neck, a month or two later.   
“Are you Jack Kelly?” Jack studied the stranger in front of him for a second, before recognizing him. He nodded.  
“My name is Tommy Mulligan. I’m…”   
“Mag’s boy.” His look of surprise was a kick straight to the ego.  
“When she lets me be. Have you seen her recently?” Jack turned away from him, flashing a brilliant smile at one of his usual ladies, giving her his last pape of the day and accepting her penny in exchange. She was a good one.  
“Not recently, why?” Tommy still watched him, eyes hooded.   
“She left to see you lot night before last. Ain't seen hide or hair of her since.” Jack went cold. “I’ve got people out lookin’, but we ain't everywhere.” Jack paused to insider, thinking furiously.  
“We ain't Rabbits.” Dead Rabbits were her gang, and Tommy’s too.  
“Know that. This ain't Rabbit business, not yet at least. Just findin’ a friend.” Jack spat into his hand, and Tommy did the same. As they shook, Jack decided to like him.   
“Manhattan’ll look. I’ll ask the others to keep eyes out, too.” With that, Tommy Mulligan vanished back into the crowd, and Jack turned his way home.


	7. November, 1897. Gettin' Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With so many eyes looking, some were bound to find her.

The Brooklyn newsies trolled their streets, eyes peeled for anything that shouldn't have been there. Spot Conlon had receive the message from Manhattan that afternoon, and as soon as all Brooklyn business was done for the night, he'd sent them all back out again. They wound up finding her in a back alley, face so bloody she was almost unrecognizable.  
But she spat curses at them when they approached her, and landed a good scratch on Chuckles. And they knew they'd found the girl.  
Her hair was matted with blood, mud, and worse things, and she smelled like death warmed over. She didn't actually black out until they started cleaning the wounds that covered her body.

Racetrack was there when she woke up. He wasn't quite sure why, but Spot had decided that, if she was a Rabbit, close with Jack, that meant she was Manhattan. Race was the nearest available Manhattan, since he worked over Brooklyn side of the river and they knew him. So, Race should keep an eye on her. Not that he minded, she was a good friend, but he felt sort of like they were both under guard. Spot himself stood in the corner, fingers tapping on the golden head of his cane easily.

She woke with a start, eyes popping open and staring around her in blank confusion. Race shifted, and she studied him until a look of recognition came over her face.  
“Heya Kid.” He got a flash of newly broken tooth when she spoke, one of the incisors.  
“Hey, Mags. You got soaked real good.” She rolled her eyes and, to his immediate concern, started pulling herself up, as though she was going to leave. It looked agonizing.She got about halfway to vertical before stalling, panting, gazing around her.  
“Where am I?”  
“Brooklyn.” Spot responded, expression impassive.  
“Who the fuck are you?” She was pale, sweating, and Race sent a quick prayer skyward that Spot didn't just kill her.  
“Spot Conlon. King of Brooklyn Newsies.” His tone could have frozen water. She didn't seem phased.  
“My apologies. If I’da known I was meetin’ royalty, I’da put on my finery.” She shifted a little, and the thin blanket fell off one scarred, bruised, bare shoulder. “Or anything, apparently."  
She raised an eyebrow to Race.  
“Where are my clothes?” He opened his mouth, sure he was about to stammer, and Spot interrupted him.  
“We're patchin’ them. Got soaked about as good as you did.” She nodded, and lay back slowly.  
‘Hey, Conlon. Y’might want to spread to yours to keep a weather eye out. Bowery ain't gonna be too happy I didn't die out there.” He nodded, paused for a second, and then left the room. As soon as he was gone, she relaxed, eyes slanting shut.  
“You okay?” Race asked, panicking at how pale she'd just gone.  
“Ev’thing hurts like hell. If’n you weren't here, I'd think it was.” She’d just dozed off again, when the door opened again. Jack was there, and a stranger.  
“Maggie!” Jack sounded ‘bout as close to crying as Race had ever heard him, and the looks of joy on both newcomers faces when her eyes opened were almost funny.  
“Hey boys. Why the long faces?”  
“You got soaked.” The stranger said, a dangerous sort of anger in his voice.  
“Drenched.” He started to open his mouth, and she shook her head a little.  
“Yeah, it was Bowerey. No, it wasn't Rabbit mess. This was personal.” Jack looked guilty, and she patted his hand.  
“Not your fault, dreamer.” Race left then, looking for some of his Brooklyn mates. She was well protected if the heavy brass knuckles he’d seen in the strangers pocket were any indication.

She was in his room when Spot got there, a few weeks later.  
“Hellcat.” He did his best to hide the immediate jolt of surprise.  
“Your majesty.” He took a second to study her before she started moving. Her bruises had fade pretty well, and the broken tooth had been filed to a smooth point. The one on the other side matched it. Her hair had obviously been unsalvageable, since it had all been cropped boyish-short. She was dressed masculine too, in fact, and if not for her curves she could almost have fooled him.  
“You got your boys to save me.” She’d been studying him just as closely, and he wondered what she'd seen.  
“A favour to Manhattan.” He shrugged.  
“Still, Kelsey’s Alley could have gotten antsy, made trouble for kids not ready.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  
“My boys is always ready.”He bristled.  
“Don't doubt it.” She blinked.”Still. You helped me, even beyond what you had to. I owe you one.” He narrowed his eyes at her.  
‘How large a ‘one’?” She paused, considering.  
“A life for a life seems fair.”  
They spat, shook, and she left.


	8. January, 1898. Payin' Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot has a problem Mags can solve.

When Spot finally had a job for her, he decided to give her a bit of her own medicine. He had his birds keep an eye on her, getting to know a bit of her schedule. Finally, he picked his moment.  
She was just leaving from one of the theatre houses, fresh money in her pocket and three cigarettes in hand.  
“You sure walkin’ around alone is safe?” She jumped a little, and gave Spot an odd smile.  
“Pretty sure. The Boys are gonna have to lick their wounds for awhile before they're gonna be ready to soak anyone again.”” Her pointed teeth made her smile especially brutal. “Walk with me?” Spot nodded and fell into step beside her.  
“I’m guessin’ you figured out what you want me to do?” He glanced at her, stone faced, and she smirked a little back.  
“Why else would I have come all the way out here?” It wasn't a question, so she didn't answer it. Instead, she waited. “There's a man. Someone I used to know. He’s been huntin’ me, ever since he found out where I was. If it was any of my boys, I'd shove him off it myself, but they don't need to be part of it.” She nodded, eyes on the road.  
“Makes sense. Where do I find him?” Spot breathed a tiny sigh of relief, glad that she wasn't pushing any personal questions.  
“He's been working out of the flop house down by the river.” Her mouth twisted.  
“No good. Too many people who might decide to intervene.” Spot thought for a moment.  
“He drinks in a pub on the ‘Hattan side of the river every night. Has to cross the bridge.” Her smile was not kind.  
“Does he, now.”

Maggie waited on the Brooklyn side of the river, right at the end of the bridge. She’d borrowed a long coat from Tommy, and the other clothes from one of the dock girls.  
Soneone started to cross the bridge, and her ears metaphorically perked up. He was about halfway across the bridge when Spot must have recognized him. A small shooter hit beside her foot, the signal they'd agreed upon. Go time.  
Casually opening the coat so it hung off her shoulders, she stepped into the waterey light of the lamp.  
“Hey, lover. You look cold.” She purred as the man came into view. “I could warm you up.” She rounded her shoulders a little, to look smaller and softer.  
“Might could do.” He had an ugly smile on his face, and she simpered at him sweetly as she guided him into the shadows.

“You've been looking for someone.” The man stared at her in horror, mute due to the gag in his mouth. She was still in her whores’ gear, standing well back from the chair he was tied to. He'd managed to give her a few new bruises, but it was nothing compared to what she’d had from other jobs.  
“I'm here to tell you to stop.” He shook his head, throat working as he tried to speak.  
“You appear to think that this is a discussion. A request.” He stared at her as she came and crouched in front of him. “It’s not. It’s a threat. You will stop searching for him and get back to your petty, meaningless life, or me and my boys will come back and kill you.” She stared into his eyes until he nodded. As she stepped back, he managed to work the gag out.  
“I knew the fucking boy would end up whore like his mother,” He opened his mouth to speak further and Maggie backhanded him across the face hard enough that he went limp against the bindings.  
“You don't deserve either of them.” She snarled, before picking up the rounded bit of brick she'd brought with her and bringing it down, hard, on his feet.  
Bone crunched as he screamed. Then again, and again, until there were no whole bones left and he wasn't able to scream any further.  
Then, spitting on the blubbering wreck, she wrapped herself into her jacket and left.  
“Don't keep looking for him. If you do, it will only become worse for you.”

She slipped out of the room, into the adjoining alleyway. Spot stood there, looking younger than she'd ever seen him, more vulnerable, and also more angry.  
“If he don't stop, tell me.” Spot, broken out of his reverie, gave her a startled, slightly frightened look. She paused, breathing carefully, letting go of the murderous rage she’d been holding onto. “You doing okay, kid?” He was halfway through nodding before he visibly remembered who he was, and his expression closed again.  
“Good as ever. Thanks.” She nodded and they left together.  
If the bastard didn't manage to get out by morning, he’d be found when the factory opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all for now, folks. Please, if you've read all of this (horrible mess) review? Comment? Kudo? There will probably be more coming, since I can't get these stupid Newsboys out of my head. <3 Thanks for reading!


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